


Synthesis

by chuusei_teki_na_koe



Series: The Fangirl Chronicles [1]
Category: Persona 5
Genre: F/F, Genderswap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-01
Updated: 2018-08-01
Packaged: 2019-06-19 20:57:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15518424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuusei_teki_na_koe/pseuds/chuusei_teki_na_koe
Summary: Akechi Akiko is the Detective Prince in the Takarazuka-esque, gender-bending sense of the word, with legions of screaming fangirls—and Akira is one of them. Secretly.Also, they talk about Hegel.





	Synthesis

**Author's Note:**

> f!Akechi being named Akiko is a bit of Japanese wordplay. Gorou is spelled 吾郎, and the second character explicitly means dude, so you scrap that and write 吾姫子, which uses the same initial character (which means : “self," it's very on-the-nose with this Hegel stuff), add in the character for “princess,” and a typical feminine ending, and you get Akiko.
> 
> Akira is generally a boy's name, but the sort you could get away with giving to a girl if you're a daring parent.
> 
> Also, this is heavily inspired by what Akechi says upon meeting him about Hegel and the thesis and antithesis. But significantly less high-brow. Akechi basically just spills the themes of the game in two lines of dialogue and I didn't notice until the second time around.

 

Akira was very good at playing it cool.

Upon seeing Akechi Akiko in studio, live, she carefully schooled her expression into one of indifferent boredom and made it seem for all the world as if she were not interested in the Detective Prince.

She nodded along with Ryuuji's griping, said very little, spoke politely to Akechi while saying exactly nothing, and then went straight home that day to scream into her pillow, masturbate furiously, and download the entirety of Hegel's _Phenomenology of Spirit_ , which she read in its entirety that night just in case she ran into Akechi again so she could say something smart about thesis and antithesis. (Of course, having stayed up until about 3AM reading it, all that stuff about Masters and Slaves quickly led down a different mental corridor, and she wasn't sure she'd really absorbed the book properly, but she could come up with some vague and intelligent-sounding statements, at least).

This was Akira's deepest, darkest secret: she was a raging fan of Akechi Akiko.

Akechi's face was on her cell phone wallpaper, her computer wallpaper, and on posters on her walls—posters which she carefully took down every time company came upstairs, and carefully replaced when they left. She had a low-key stealth cell phone charm that didn't feature her face or anything, but the signature colour scheme that was on much of her merchandise. Akira had a secret stash box full of clear files, pencil boards, fans, bromides, phone cards, keychains, and cell phone charms: pretty much every piece of merch she could get her hands on. She had read the fanfiction. She had written the fanfiction (self-insert). She had a playlist of Akechi-themed songs, including some fan-composed items from Nico-nico set to tunes from Takarazuka shows (this was practically a whole genre, to which Akira herself had contributed). She had notebooks filled with bad fan art and doodles saying things like _Aki♡Aki._ (They practically had the same name. It was fate.)

(The fans called her “Aki-sama.” Akira, however, made a point not to use that term, because she didn't want to be seen as a screeching fangirl. Though she was.)

Akechi's disapproval of the Phantom Thieves activities was simultaneously heart-breaking and thrilling: this placed them in the territory of basically fated rivals, and now Akira was ready to die, in a good way.

Akira wasn't just a fan anymore. She and Akechi had made a _connection._ And she was going to milk this. She was going to milk this _hard._

x x x

Meeting Akechi at the train station every so often was not coincidence. Oh, no. This was carefully orchestrated.

Akechi's commuting route was actually an open secret among die-hard fans—some girls (and it was mostly girls) would stake out the area to get a glimpse of their idol in the flesh. But now that Akira had made a connection with Akechi, she could place herself at the train station at just the right times for Akechi to walk by.

“Oh! What a coincidence to run into you here,” Akechi said, the first time.

 _Not a coincidence. But it is fate.♡_ “Huh. Yeah,” Akira said coolly.

“I'm so busy with work and school all the time, I don't get much chance to talk to people my own age,” Akechi said. “So it's really nice to see you again.”

 _EEEEEEEE!_ “I got the impression we disagreed on just about everything, though.”

“Aha-ha!” She laughed. “That's what makes you interesting. On camera, in front of a celebrity, most girls, especially, would be more reserved about their opinions.”

 _I know, I'm a badass.♡ You're gonna love me._ “You mean you like being challenged?”

“Yes, I suppose I do.”

 _Ohh, I'll challenge the panties off y—_ “Sorry, I've got to go to school. Later.”

It was only after Akira had sauntered off nonchalantly that she realized she'd forgot to bring up Hegel. _Fuck._

x x x

After three train station chats (“It seems like our schedules overlap a lot, huh?” said Akechi), which were the fruit of about twelve early-morning stakeouts, Akira went in to cinch it.

“Hey, you should come down to the cafe sometime,” she said, popping out one of Soujirou's business cards to hand it to Akechi casually, one-handed. “It's usually pretty empty, so it's a nice place to chill.”

Akechi took the card politely in both hands, with a little bow. “Oh, thank you. I just might. I do love a good coffee, after all.”

 _Eh heh. Eh heh heh heh heh._ “Cool. See you later.”

Aaaaand saunter off coolly.

x x x

Akira was ready for Akechi to come down to Leblanc: body, mind and spirit. She was going to seduce this girl or die trying. They didn't call her Magic Fingers Akira for nothing (okay, they didn't call her that, but she liked to think of herself like that, secretly). She was confident she could turn any so-called “straight” girl gay, and there was no way a girl like Akechi Akiko wasn't into pussy.

Akira checked herself in the mirror over the sink at Leblanc, just like she had every night since she'd handed Akechi that business card. Hair: freshly-cut in her usual short cut, looking curly and cute. Clothing: her favourite black satin college jacket with the flowers embroidered on the back, with her uniform skirt worn long and retro. Cleavage: pleasantly exposed with a few buttons on her blouse undone. Glasses: adding the stylish intellectual touch.

“Expecting someone?” Futaba asked, spinning herself around on a bar stool.

Akira twitched, but nothing more. “Maybe.”

“You've got toilet paper hanging out the back of your skirt.”

Akira's hand jerked around to snatch at her butt, but found nothing there.

“JK. You're really nervous about this, huh? Who is it? Akechi?”

Akira slowly turned around, eyeing Futaba hard. “Maybe.”

“Does she know you're a total fangirl?”

“How do _you_ know I'm a total fangirl?!” Akira demanded.

Futaba picked up her a takeaway cup from Big Bang Burger and slurped on the straw. Soujirou didn't like it when they ate outside food here during operating hours, but he let Futaba get away with it (not Akira, however). “Hacked your phone. Also, I've been in your room, jeez.”

“I take the posters down when people come over! Also, invasion of privacy, much?!”

“I'm in here all the time, you know? You make mistakes sometimes.” Futaba shook her head. “You've got it bad, girl.”

Akira couldn't deny this. She could, however, pretend that she did not have it bad. “Whatever. I've got this under control. I'm gonna be…” she made a swiping motion. “stealing that heart tonight.”

“You're obsessed.”

“Dedicated.”

“A stalker.”

“I'm not gonna take that from the girl who hacked my phone.”

“Touche.” With a final slurp, Futaba drained her pop. “But how do you know she's into girls?”

“Come on. She's a lesbian icon. Of course she's into girls.”

The term _lesbian icon_ made Futaba snort. “So she likes wearing pants and has a lot of fangirls. You could get your heart broken, y'know.”

Akira shook her head. “You don't get it, Futaba. It's the lesbian rule of hair length. Each inch shorter than half-back increases the chances of lesbianism by five percent, up to a shaved head, which means she's a hundred percent gay. She's got short hair. Ergo, eighty percent lesbian.”

Futaba snorted harder. “Wait, but by that logic, Makoto would be—” Akira waggled her eyebrows. “…Ooookay then, never mind. It seems you know what you're doing.”

That was the very moment Akechi chose to walk into Leblanc. Immediately, Futaba slipped off her stool. “I'm gonna skeedaddle. Smell ya later.” Leaving her take-out on the counter and earning herself a frown from Soujirou, she scampered out the door past Akechi, who turned around to watch her go past.

“Was that…?” Akechi started, but then stopped. “Never mind. Hello, Kurosu! So this is the place, huh?” She walked up to the counter, placed her briefcase on the ground, and took a seat. “It does seem quite nice.”

“If it isn't the Detective Prince,” said Soujirou, behind the counter. “So what'll it be?”

“I think I'll just have a latte,” said Akechi. “Regular size, two shots, please.” She pulled her wallet out of her back pocket _(so masculine and unf)_ to place a thousand-yen bill on the counter.

“Coming right up,” Soujirou rang her through and gave her change, then reached out for a cup, but Akira scooted behind the counter to beat him to the punch.

“I'll handle the cafe tonight,” she said with a smooth grin. “And I'll close up. So you can go home early.”

Soujirou gave Akira a look of deep skepticism about this sudden act of generosity, then looked over at Akechi, then back at Akira with a look that said _oh, I get it._ Then he winked in a really obvious, obnoxious way, grabbed his hat and coat and walked out smugly. “Don't forget to record the till count!” He called behind him as he walked out the door.

Akira could have done without all the winking, but Soujirou was gone and she and Akechi were the only ones in the cafe, so everything was working out as planned.

“I'll give you the Akira special,” she said to Akechi, and proceeded to work her magic with the espresso machine, foaming up the milk just so and adding a touch of the secret ingredient: cayenne pepper. “It'll knock your pants off.” This was not just a figure of speech.

Sliding it across the counter over to Akechi, she made sure their hands touched in the process, and was rewarded with a moment of hesitation before Akechi pulled the cup and saucer toward her.

Akechi took a sip. “It's…interesting,” she said.

“Right?” Akira said with a grin. “I like making it a little different.”

“Aha-ha!” Akechi laughed. “I can't deny that it's different.” She took another sip. “So you live here?”

“Yeah, just upstairs,” Akira jerked her head to the right as she leaned onto the counter, a calculated distance from Akechi, close enough to make the other girl aware of her presence. “So after hours, I basically have the place to myself.”

“I imagine it can get a little lonely, though, living on your own.” Akechi looked down at her cup, an unreadable look on her face.

“I guess,” Akira shrugged. “Sometimes I get people to keep me company.”

It seems the innuendo went totally over Akechi's head, as she just took another sip and said, “Oh, so you bring your friends here to hang out, huh?”

Oh, no. It seemed Akechi was a dense case. She wasn't the type who could take hints. There was only one thing to say, in this situation. “And girlfriends.”

Akechi smiled. “It must be fun to have a girls' night in, every once in a while.” She raised the coffee up to her lips again.

Oh no oh no. She was a mega-dense case. How the heck could she be a detective? Well, some people just had massive blinders on when it came to flirting. A combination of virginity and self-defensive behaviour. Yes, this girl was a virgin. Definitely. A raging, pure, innocent virgin kitty.

“Totally,” Akira said. “Except my girls' nights in generally involve lesbian sex.”

Akechi spurted a mouthful of coffee right into Akira's face. After a moment of standing there, basking in the feeling of Akechi's hot juices on her face _(shhh just let me have this fantasy)_ , Akira grinned and said, “If that's what you're into, we can give it a shot.”

Slowly but surely, red crept up from Akechi's neck as she hid behind her coffee cup, speechless.

“Hey,” Akira raised one hand in front of her, grabbing a fresh cloth with the other to wipe her face with. “Forgive me if I'm coming on too strong. I just kinda assumed, since you're…” she waved her hand vaguely _. A lesbian icon._ “Sorta butch.”

Akechi put the cup down. “Um…well, I…won't deny that my tastes do lean towards…” Her gaze hovered vaguely in thin air, gradually lowering down to be caught in the bear trap that was Akira's cleavage.

 _Success!!_ Mentally, Akira was doing a winning touchdown-level victory dance. “Ladyflesh?” Akira finished for her. Akira reached out, and playfully bopped her on the shoulder. “No need to be shy about it. Finish your coffee and come upstairs with me. Do you like _Detective Conan?_ ”

Akechi made a face like, she didn't like _Conan_ but she didn't want to be rude.

“Okay, no _Conan._ How about American shows? Sherlock? Don't tell me you don't actually like detective stories.”

“Actually…” Akechi said. “I can't say I do.”

“Whaaaat?” Akira said, legitimately shocked. “Is it the lack of realism? Or does it just feel like work, to you?”

“Not…quite either, really. It's hard to explain,” Akechi said vaguely as she finished her coffee.

“But that puts me in a spot. All I've got besides mystery shows is porn…”

Akechi made the sort of choked expression that signalled she'd be spewing out coffee again if there was any more left.

“…Just kidding. I've got some other stuff, too. Doctor dramas, cop dramas, Takarazuka DVDs, some horror movies…” Akechi's face brightened at _horror movies._ “Oh, you like horror?” Akira said. “Most of the stuff I've got is like, the gory slasher Hollywood stuff, though, nothing classy.”

“Oh, I love the gory slasher stuff,” Akechi said with a big grin, and Akira could tell she meant it.

“Ohh, should I be scared? Am I gonna wind up in pieces in a garbage bag tonight?!” Akira posed in mock-terror.

Akechi laughed, a very particular glint in her eye.

x x x

Akechi waited patiently as Akira closed up the cafe, counting the till (she did remember to record the cash count) and locking the door, and then they went upstairs.

Akira pulled the TV out in front of the couch so they could watch in comfort. Akechi took off her blazer and neatly folded it over the back of Akira's desk chair, setting her briefcase down beside it, while Akira just threw her own jacket off somewhere carelessly.

They decided to have a _Saw_ marathon and see how far they could go. Apparently, Akechi mostly watched Japanese and Asian horror films, so she hadn't even seen the first one yet.

Akira very quickly found out that Akechi was either desensitized as shit or had nerves of steel, but she didn't bat an eye at scenes of the most extreme gore or so much as twitch over a single jump scare. Akira loved horror movies, but she loved getting scared by them, jumping, shrieking, watching from between her fingers during the freakiest scenes. This also gave her the excuse to leap all over Akechi, who twitched a hell of a lot more at being glomped than over any disembowelments.

Akira had also picked these movies because she'd seen them a million times already and she knew she could safely ignore them and focus on Akechi. Unfortunately, Akechi was really into the movie, and Akira felt bad for trying to distract her when she was so thoroughly engrossed (though not grossed-out) by it, quite literally sitting on the edge of her seat and leaning forward toward the TV.

When the movie finally reached its credits and Akechi leaned back into the couch with a sigh, Akira was feeling rather defeated.

“I'd have taken you for being into more intellectual stuff,” Akira said. She was now sprawled out over the couch, her legs thrown over Akechi's lap.

Akechi seemed a little embarrassed. “I mean, I do. But there's something a little thrilling about a film that just grabs you by the id, you know what I mean?”

“And your id is torture porn?”

“Hey, it's your movie.”

“Touche.” Akira wiggled her legs a bit in Akechi's lap, and Akechi didn't seem to mind it. She had her hands placed on either side of her as she leaned forward a little bit, pensive.

“So what sort of intellectual movies do you like, then?” Akira asked. “If you don't like detective stuff.” She knew what sort of answers Akechi gave on TV, but she didn't want those answers—on TV, she claimed to like detective shows, after all. You could never trust interview answers to be one hundred percent real, with any celebrity—and especially not with Akechi Akiko.

“Hmm…” Akechi put a gloved hand to her chin. Those gloves drove Akira crazy. Akechi had basically single-handedly _(heh)_ given her a glove fetish. But now was not the time for those thoughts. “Psychological thrillers, I suppose? I like to see what happens when people are pushed, in extreme circumstances. What causes people to break? What brings people to commit atrocities? This movie was…a crude version of that, but gripping nevertheless.”

“Pretty heavy stuff…” Akira said, leaning back into the arm of the couch. “I try not to think too deeply about things like that…it just gets you into a spiral of miserable thinking. There's something to be said for enjoying everything on a shallow level.”

“Well…I can understand that. In a sense, the shallow level is the most important one. What we sense directly occupies the vast majority of our time. And if something is hidden so deeply that no one ever sees it, can it really be said to exist at all? What matters…is what we do.”

Suddenly, Akira felt that Akechi was talking about something else, but didn't know how to probe any deeper, or if she even should. “Well, even if no one ever sees it, you see it, right?”

Akechi gave a strange smile, eyes turning toward Akira. “Well, you might say that the self comes into being upon viewed by others.”

Akira jolted up. “I know Hegel!”

“Oh, do you?” Akechi grinned, leaning back. “Well, then what do you have to say about the master-slave dialectic?”

Akira's brain spun like the wheels of a bicycle with rusty bearings for a good minute before screeching to a halt. “I'll be real, it was like 3AM and I'm not sure I really absorbed much. I think I fell asleep halfway through. Once he started talking about Master-Slave stuff and interpenetration, my mind just went places…” her eyes glazed over. “Yeah, I didn't get it.”

Akechi laughed, and somehow, it sounded more sincere and whole-hearted than anything Akira had heard from her yet.

“So why don't you explain the master-slave dialectic to me, _Senseeei,_ ” Akira said, leaning forward attentively. “Is it kinky?

“Aha-ha. No. It can get rather complicated, but the way I understand it, when a self-awareness encounters another self-awareness, the existence of something other than the self prompts…a sort of identity crisis. The existence of the other is a negation of the self, you see. So from the Master's perspective, this Other is a threat. The Master simultaneously wants to kill the Slave and requires the validation of the Slave to exist…their being revolves around this sense of superiority over the Slave.” Akechi gave a strange smile. “It can really only end with either the Master killing the Slave, or the Slave's rebellion, killing the Master.”

It sounded rather convoluted, but Akira got the gist of it, and the way Akechi put it made more sense than reading Hegel straight. “Why can't the Master just get over it and be equal to the Slave?”

“Oh, well…” Akechi turned to her, and Akira felt the full force of that strange smile. “That would be a negation of the self, you see. The Master would no longer be the Master. They would lose their superiority. And what figure in a position of power would want to give it up?”

“…This is starting to sound kinda political.”

“Oh, it is. Marx used a lot of those ideas to describe class conflict.” Akechi shook her head, the strange look on her face vanishing to be replaced with a foolish smile. “Aha-ha-ha. Though to be honest, I've never actually read Hegel directly. I've just read other people explaining his work. Sometimes, it all seems to crystallize into a perfect understanding, but then it all falls out my ears within the day. I'm convinced anyone who claims to understand him is lying…I've certainly lied about understanding Hegel. But it makes you look quite smart when you pull out his name.”

Akira stared at Akechi in shock. The great mind, the TV genius, admitting to faking it to look smart. “You little fraudster!” She swung her legs down off the couch and leaned in toward Akechi, grabbing her arm. “And here I thought you were _so_ smart!”

“Well, I _am_ smart. Hegel just doesn't make sense.”

“Sure, blame the philosopher!” Akira viciously tickled Akechi's sides and was rewarded with delicious shrieks. Akira didn't let up, forcing Akechi to slide to the floor in giggles and the following her down to continue her assault.

“H-hey, s-sto—ha-ha-ha-ha-ehe-hee!” Akechi couldn't stop laughing.

“I'll dialectic you!”

“That doesn't make any sen—aha-ha-ha-ha-ha!” Akechi's giggle fit was leaving her wide open, and before long, she was sprawled underneath Akira, panting and red-faced, her shirt crumpled and pulled halfway out of her slacks.

Akira knew an opportunity when she saw one. She leaned in, pausing when her nose was just a few inches from Akechi's. “Have you ever been kissed?”

“…They always ask that question in interviews.”

“And you always avoid answering.”

Akechi's eyes shifted to the side. “You've watched my interviews?”

“A few.”

“Then you'd know I always say…” Akechi licked her lips. “I'm waiting for the right frog.”

“Ribbit,” Akira said, and kissed Akechi.

Akechi kissed back, and Akira deepened the kiss, sliding her hands down to grab Akechi's, enjoying the feel of the black leather gloves. Akechi squeezed her hands in return, threading their fingers together, and Akira was caught between the desire to keep squeezing and the desire to rip her hands free and run them all over Akechi's body. The latter won out, and then she was pulling Akechi's pullover vest over her head, Akechi raising her arms to help it off, and unbuttoning Akechi's dress shirt to reveal a plain black bra over modest breasts. It seemed that Akechi had _not_ been lying about her bust measurements (yes, those were publicized, along with her waist and hips. Akira had these numbers memorized, obviously).

Akira reached around to unclasp Akechi's bra to slide her hands underneath it from below and discover what was not publicized: her nipples were incredibly sensitive. When Akira rolled one under her fingertips, Akechi cried out, one arm flying out reflexively to smack the box that was under Akira's couch and—

_Oh shit._

That was. That was the box. _The_ box. And now, it was tipped over on its side, its contents all spilled out behind Akechi's head. Akira froze in horror, staring at this scene of carnage.

Akechi blinked and turned her head up to look. “What?” and came face-to-face with the evidence: a mountain of merchandise with her face on it.

She giggled.

Panic and mortification waged a war in Akira's head, her hand still on Akechi's boob, the other one on the floor, bearing her weight.

Was there any way to play this cool? Was there? _Was there a way?_

Slowly, Akira said, “If that box had been hidden so deeply that you never, ever saw it, could it _really_ be said to exist at all?”

Akechi's giggling gradually built up, until she was full-heartedly laughing, smacking the floor with one hand, tears streaming out of her eyes. Finally, she got a hold of herself, sort of. “Okay…ehee hee…but I've seen it…ehee hee! So it exists now. Schrodinger's cat has been let out of the bag…hee hee!” And then she burst into more laughter, either because she was in a giggle fit, or she was laughing at her own (lame) joke, or both.

Finally, she calmed down for real, wiping her eyes to look up at Akira. By this point, Akira had sullenly withdrawn her hand from Akechi's boob, but was still straddling her waist, arms crossed and feeling more than a bit grumpy about this. Also still mortified.

“It's okay, really,” said Akechi. “I never would have taken you for a fan. Well, I know your secret, so let me tell you mine: I've been deliberately looking for you at the train stations every day since we first met, hoping to see you. Aha-ha.” This laugh was more an embarrassed one than a hysterical one.

“I was looking for you at the station, too!” Akira blurted. “Every day! How could we both have been looking for each other and missed each other so many times?!”

Akechi smiled, and for some reason, it seemed kind of sad. “Sometimes, the timing is just all wrong. And then it's too late.”

Again, Akira wasn't sure what she meant, but she felt it was something she couldn't pry into, not yet, maybe not ever. So she just slumped forward to lie on top of Akechi, landing her face between Akechi's boobs and twining their fingers together again.

They were silent like that for a while, until Akira said, “I think what's on the inside matters. Like that box. I mean, if you never saw it, you'd never know I'm your _biggest fan ever,_ but I'd still do things because of it. And knowing what's in the box helps you understand what's I do.” Akira pushed herself up again to look down at Akechi. “So what's in your box?”

Akechi smiled, and this one was her normal smile, her TV smile, the one that said nothing and everything. Akira both loved and hated it. “Nothing that should be shown off.”

Somehow, Akira had been expecting an answer like that. “I guess I'm just gonna have to keep rolling your nipples until you whack the lid off that box, too.” she reached under Akechi's bra with both hands, enjoying the little squeak Akechi made when she ran her thumbs over both nipples. A few more strokes, and Akechi was gasping under her touch. Akira tweaked her nubs, starting off gentle and working her way up to firm twists, and Akechi's moaning rose in volume until her whole body shuddered.

“Did you…did you just come from nipple play?!” Akira was in awe, but Akechi just blushed. “Oh my god, I hate you.” 

“I hate you, too,” Akechi replied with a smile.

“Ha, ha.” Akira shook her head and stood up, offering Akechi a hand. “Let's not do this on the floor.”

Akechi took her hand, and Akira pulled her to the bed, spinning her around to throw her down with a _fwump._ For someone so tall, she was light and easy to manhandle, with a thin, androgynous frame. _The perfect otoko-yaku frame,_ Akira thought. _I want to make her cosplay all the guys._ Akira wasn't into _actual_ guys, but girls dressed up as guys was something different. Which was half her initial attraction to the Detective Prince.

But from watching the interviews, the variety show segments, and reading the articles and seeing the photo shoots, Akira had come to be fascinated with Akechi Akiko for a very different set of reasons. Akechi very clearly, very blatantly, put on a social face, avoided questions, and hid the truth of herself. Every celebrity did this to varying degrees, of course, but Akechi did it to the extreme. It was this tendency that earned her so many fans—of both the sort who believed the mask was the real thing, and those who saw it for what it was and couldn't help but be curious about what was behind it.

And Akira was so hopelessly, helplessly curious.

Once Akira had Akechi's pants and underwear off and her fingers buried up inside Akechi's warmth, she hoped to see some of that, but really, all she saw was raw lust. Which was fine (great, actually), for what it was. But it wasn't what Akira really wanted. Akira wanted to peel her open and see what was on the inside—metaphorically speaking.

_If something is hidden so deeply that no one ever sees it, can it really be said to exist at all?_

Fuck that sophistry.

Akechi had basically just implicitly admitted the existence of her secrets.

And Akira would rip them out of her, as surely as she ripped the orgasm out of her.

 


End file.
